Poppy
by aonalion
Summary: If you haven't read my story 'Wizard of Oz', this won't make any sense to you. A oneshot which goes deep into Poppy's mind, explaining his character a bit more. Shounen-ai, Johan/Poppy X Judai


**A/N:** I couldn't even last _two days _without writing something more in the WoO universe! Jäklar. Oh well, I had fun writing it.

There's mentions of alcohol and drugs in this story, haha. BUT you _HAVE _to listen to this song: 'Ponderosa' by Tricky. Search for it on youtube or something, it's seriously Poppy's theme music.

* * *

Poppy was alone.

He wouldn't admit it to anyone, not even himself, but he was.

He took his brief moments of pleasure from the travellers who came by his house near the forest every now and then; weather they wanted it or not. As soon as they were gone, he was alone again and simply waited for the next person to come by. When he was by himself, he would roam around his small house in a sort of pink and orange haze, drinking whatever he could find and smoking whatever he had at the moment.

Time meant nothing to him; he wouldn't age, he wouldn't become younger. Even so, he knew he had lived forever, and he felt older than the mountains he would see if he ever went out – which he rarely did. Sometimes, he would see leaves coloured with autumn fall outside his windows, and the travellers had thicker layers of clothing, and that was the only way he knew time actually passed. To him, time was something which happened to others.

Poppy couldn't remember a time before he lived in the house he was in now; he couldn't even remember getting the house, yet he was sure there had to be a past – he had these scars on his lower arms and on his thighs which he couldn't remember how he'd gotten. He had a discomforting feeling he had inflicted them on himself.

But the truth was; when he was alone, he was himself – when he was seducing the people who came by his house, he was truly _alone_.

They didn't understand him – no one understood him – they didn't understand why he did what he did, they didn't _want_ to understand. They simply thought he did it for pleasure, but that wasn't true. Not entirely. He did it because he was alone.

And so, it became a vicious circle where he practically fed on the travellers when he was alone, but they didn't understand him, which made him lonely, which made him feed on the poor travellers.

Poppy was aware of this, somewhere far back in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind, but wouldn't admit it to himself.

Not until that one boy came along – he looked so lost, like he didn't belong here. His red jacket strangely familiar; his big brown eyes were confused, but deep down underneath all of that he was also scared.

For the first time, Poppy felt something other than lust. It was such a strong feeling, and it was so unfamiliar and sudden and strange; Poppy didn't know how to react – so he acted like normal. He seduced and teased the young boy, played with him and wanted to claim him as his own. He enjoyed the feeling, and knew the boy did too, even though he tried to resist, just like everyone before him. The scent of poppies and the smoke from one of Poppy's many pipes filled the room and affected the boy, but Poppy himself had grown so used to it he couldn't even feel the scent anymore.

But then the young boy did something no one else before him had done – he had actually managed to get loose from Poppy's grip; he had managed to overcome the sensation of the smoke and scent which filled the room.

Poppy stumbled backwards, unable to think as the unthinkable happened. The young boy stood before him – panting, scared out of his mind, but he stood up straight and simply stared at Poppy in fright. Poppy had never gotten such a look from anyone.

The young boy was finally able to move, and reached behind him for the door knob – which he was able to turn even though Poppy was sure he'd locked the door. With one last, terrified glance at Poppy, the boy opened the door and practically fell outside, where his friends caught him.

Poppy still couldn't think, but his body moved as if on its own. He took slow steps forward – his legs felt like lead – and closed the door, resting his forehead against the surprisingly cold wood.

After what felt like an eternity – and that's saying a lot for someone who had lived forever – he was able to move, and he went around his house until he found his favourite bottle and his favourite pipe, and then he drank until he was drunk and smoked until he was senseless.

Judai Yuki.

His one love.

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, I know, it's utterly random. And weird.

Here's that pic of Poppy I promised! http: / lonleysamurai . deviantart . com /art /Poppy - 187645758 Remove the spaces and you'll get there easily :)

And here's the trés smexy scene with Judai and Poppy: http : / lonleysamurai . deviantart . com / art / The-smell-of-poppies- 190390557 X3


End file.
